The Lessons We Learn
Title: The Lessons We Learn
Verse: G1
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairings: Jazz, Prowl, Smokescreen, Several OCs; ProwlxJazz, OCxOC
Word Count: 3,187
Warnings: Mech Pregnancy, Femme Pregnancy, Dark Themes, Character Death
Summary: A new development in his life has Prowl wondering about the creators he never knew.
Notes: For vejiraziel. The prompt was basically just to explain Prowl and Smokescreen's past in my last fic How To Woo a Femme. THIS FIC IS A SEQUEL. Reading the first piece is suggested, but not necessary. This is another piece of our trade over at tf_trading_post. Also: This is now my longest fic ever.
“Prowl, I’m with sparkling.”
The SIC’s engine backfired, not garnering a reaction from either mech.
“Don’t look so surprised, it was sure to happen eventually.” Jazz snorted, grinning brightly.
Prowl just stared at him blankly.
“Oh, come on,” Jazz sighed, drooping. He’d expected a far more ecstatic reaction from his bond mate, something that preferably ended with passionate embraces. Now though, he’d settle for an uncertain smile.
Finally, Prowl moved, a shift of the optics onto Jazz’s chest plating. “You’re sure?” he asked stiffly.
“Ratchet confirmed it yesterday,” Jazz said, reaching out and taking Prowl’s hand in his.
“When did this happen…?"
“Last week on your desk, I think,” Jazz paused, optics flickering. “Or in the wash racks later that night.”
Prowl’s doorwings twitched low on his back as he seemed to sink back into that blank state.
Jazz let a brief scowl touch his face, pulling on Prowl’s hand. “Prowler, I don’t know yer issue with me getting sparked,” he said, dragging the hand upwards and pressing it encouragingly to his chest plates. “But this is happening.”
Prowl’s optics lit abruptly, fingers curling against the white plating. “Jazz… I…” He vented softly, looking stunned. “I have no problem with…. our… sparkling…”
“Then what’s wrong, Prowler? Talk to me….” Jazz said, his optics pleading. “Why do ya seem so upset about this?”
The Datsun’s doorwings drooped further, his optics shifting to his lap. “I’m afraid.” He admitted slowly.
Jazz moved closer, nestling himself against Prowl’s side. “Of what?”
“I’m… Not sure how to be a proper creator…” Prowl murmured softly, turning worried optics down on him.
“Aw, don’t be worried about that,” Jazz replied, brightening slightly. “You’ll be a fine daddy!”
Prowl shook off the odd human term, looking only more uncertain. “I don’t know how…”
“Just do what your creators did!” Jazz said, grinning. “They seem to have done a fine job raising you!”
Prowl looked startled, optics widening surprise as his back straightened. “My creators?”
“Yeah! I mean even Smokescreen turned out alright, so they had to have done a good job!” Jazz teased.
“I… Jazz… I was raised by Smokescreen,” Prowl said quietly, looking surprised.
The smile on Jazz’s face fell abruptly. “Oh…” he murmured, raising one hand to softly touch the side of the other’s face. “Prowl… I’m sorry… I had no idea…”
The SIC leaned his cheek into the touch, optics taking on a faraway look. “I never knew them…”
“What happened…?” Jazz asked slowly, stroking the soft plating.
Prowl trapped the hand to his cheek with one of his own, offlining his optics. “I-I don’t know… I never asked Smokescreen….” he said slowly. “I never thought much about it.”
Jazz tilted his mate’s helm down, pressing a kiss to his chevron. “Do ya want to know?”
Prowl reached around the smaller white frame, pulling him close. “I’m not sure. Maybe.”
A soft hum came from Jazz’s chest as he happily molded himself to Prowl’s side. “Go,” he said softly. “Talk to him about it and come back when ya get yer answers.”
Prowl nodded slowly. “Just… Give me a moment.” He sighed, releasing the hand on his cheek. He bent his head over, nuzzling his mate’s helm and turning to pull their chests flush together. Slowly, he became aware of the gentle energy radiating off of the other’s chest.
He could feel his newspark.
“Tell me about our creators."
After a long, awkward silence, waiting for his brother to explain his odd mood, Smokescreen jumped at the words. “Our creators?”
Prowl looked firm. “I need to know what happened to them.”
Smokescreen stared at him for a long time. His little brother had never asked about their creators before. He could only guess at his sudden curiosity. “You’re sure you want to know?”
“Yes. Even if they abandoned us, I want to know,” Prowl told him.
Smokescreen gave him a small smile, getting up from the berth. “Don’t worry, they didn’t abandon us,” he said, his voice gentle.
Prowl’s optics tracked him across the room as Smokescreen opened a drawer in his desk and withdrew a worn looking data pad. He flicked it on and approached his brother again.
“This is the closest thing we have to a family picture,” Smokescreen explained, setting the data pad in his brother’s hands.
On the screen, three bots stood happily. On the left, a tall thin flier was grinning at the camera, his red and white plating practically glowing in his joy. He had one arm wrapped protectively around a pretty yellow-and-black femme. Likewise, she was smiling brightly, one delicate hand resting over her spark. Between the two stood a rather young looking Smokescreen, his face beaming.
“Our carrier sparked you just a few orbital cycles before this picture was taken,” Smokescreen said gently, pointing at the female grounder.
“What happened?” Prowl whispered. He looked stunned by the simple image. However he may have previously imagined his creators before, it was now washed away by the sight of the picture.
Smokescreen sat down heavily on his berth, next to Prowl. “Towards the end of your carrying, there was an accident.”
Prowl stiffened. Of course he’d been expecting something like this, but somehow, just hearing that stung.
“Skypulse, our sire, was a scientist,” Smokescreen began, pointing at the flier in the image. “He was working on a revolutionary experiment; something he always claimed would change the world when it was complete.” A pause and a weary sigh. “Instead, it killed him.”
“Skypulse, I think you should come see this…”
The flier turns, glancing up from his data pad immediately. Normally, he would be hard pressed to abandon the important spreadsheet of numbers, but the uncertain tone in his colleagues’ voice catches his attention. “Yes, Atomblast?”
“No, I mean come here,” the green scientist says, his voice holding an unusual touch of worry. “I think there’s something wrong.”
Skypulse stood up, abandoning his work for the time being. “I suggest using caution with those words. You are currently attending to a sensitive and expensive experiment,” he noted, almost teasing.
Atomblast gave him a look that held no amusement. “I wouldn’t say it unless I was sure.”
The short wings on Skypulse’s back twitched at his words, his pace increasing as he crossed the room and took up a spot next to his partner. “What is it?”
“It…. It appears to be destabilizing.”
The winged scientist stiffened. “Show me the readings.”
Atomblast tapped on the monitor beneath the experiment. “See right here,” he said, pointing to the screen when a set of numbers and moving diagrams appeared.
“That’s…. It has to be a glitch.” Skypulse sighed, shaking his head. “According to this, the containment chamber is functioning fine, yet there is a fluctuation in the isotopes. Impossible,” he said firmly.
Atomblast didn’t look convinced. “What if it’s something else?”
“Well… There are protocols to follow,” Skypulse noted, gracing him with a teasing smile. “Evacuate the area, I’ll stay here and fix this.”
The green grounder twittered his fingers in front of him. “You sure that’s okay? I mean… I could stay here and try to stabilize it…”
Skypulse set a hand on his shoulder. “There’s nothing to stabilize,” he reminded him. “But one of us must make sure to clear the building in case something does happen. That’s you. Go.”
Atomblast gave him a small smile. “Okay,” he said. “Comm me when the coast is clear.”
Skypulse gave him a little wave as he quickly moved from the room, making an emergency comm to clear the base.
“Now… About these unstable isotopes…” he murmured, flexing his fingers as he set to work.
The monitor he attended to was set into the base of a tall tube that stretched from floor to ceiling in the lab. The churning blue liquid within was his life’s work.
Normally, the glowing blue liquid was calm, harmless despite its hazardous properties. In turn, the monitor stayed quiet, never flaring out in warnings. Until now.
“Impossible,” Skypulse murmured, optics narrowing at a flashing red light on the control monitor. “A cooling system overload?”
The red-and-white scientist may have further doubted what he considered to be a faulty monitor, had a high-pitched keening not erupted from the panel.
“No…. No no no no no no…!” Skypulse cursed, the severity of the situation suddenly catching up with him.
This experiment, a desperate attempt to create a highly concentrated form of energon, normally had a low danger level. Contained correctly in this state, it was harmless. But somehow, something had changed at a molecular level. It was unstable now, something that had very likely forced the cooling systems into overload, further dropping the chemical into a hazardous state. Depending on how far it had thus far progressed, it could explode at any moment.
Skypulse hurriedly typed in the necessary calculations, his fingers flying across the keyboard.
Catastrophic system meltdown is 10… 9 … 8…
So soon… There was no warning. How did this happen…?
There was so much that needed to be said, so much that needed to be done, so many people he needed to say good bye too… There was no time.
“Atomblast?” Skypulse commed, surprisingly calm despite the panic building within him.
“Skypulse? Is it all clear yet?” the other scientist asked, so unaware of the danger. Thankfully, they’d escaped in time…
“I need you to pass a message onto Stardaze for me.”
4… 3… 2…
“Prowl. I like that name, tell her that.”
1… 0.
The blue liquid flashed a burning white, the light blinding him as the lab exploded around him.
“The explosion was so massive that the entire building was destroyed. Luckily, everyone else was already out of the building,” Smokescreen said softly, not seeming at all comforted by this fact. “Skypulse was the only casualty.”
Prowl felt a sharp sting slash across his spark. He’d never known his sire, but just looking at the image and listening to his story… It felt like he’d missed something. Not once in his life had he ever felt a loss at being raised by his only brother.
“Then what happened?” Prowl asked softly.
“Things changed fast,” Smokescreen murmured. “Except for your creation, everything got worse.”
“What do you mean?” Prowl asked slowly.
Smokescreen’s optics bore into the picture, examining the femme there. “Stardaze was never the same-- she never recovered.”
“Stardaze?”
“Our carrier,” Smokescreen explained. “Our creators were very much in love and after Skypulse’s death, she was devastated.”
“Did she….?” Prowl began, almost dreading the answer.
“No, she didn’t kill herself,” Smokescreen assured him, though his tone indicated that the truth wasn’t much better.
“She was always very happy, no matter the situation, but she was also a dreamer,” Smokescreen explained. “I remember times when Skypulse or I would be talking to her and she’d just stare past us in a daze. She’d always snap out of it quickly, tell us what she’d been thinking about, and we’d continue the conversation.” As he spoke, a small smile had crept across his lips, but he quickly grew sober once more.
“After the accident, she just sat around and stared off into nothing. She hardly ever spoke and I had to convince her to take fuel constantly.” Smokescreen’s optics dimmed sadly, his head tipping down. “During her work and her dazes, I took care of you.”
“Her work?” Prowl asked, slipping an arm around his brother’s back. The story was… upsetting to him, but to his brother it seemed to have been a deeply troubled time.
“Stardaze was a Planet Guardian,” Smokescreen replied, leaning into the hold. “Back then, it was a fancy name for engineers that took care of the inner layers of Cybertron. It was a well respected job because many considered the Guardians to hold a special bond with Primus.”
“And did she?” Prowl asked, looking over at his brother.
Smokescreen shrugged. “She was never sure. Sometimes she claimed that the planet spoke to her indirectly, but she never said she was any more connected then the rest of us.”
There was a short lull in conversation as Prowl seemed to absorb this and Smokescreen sank further into his memories.
“What happened to her?”
“No one’s sure,” Smokescreen murmured, reaching a hand out toward the data pad. One finger stroked absently across Stardaze’s image. “She went into the tunnels and never came out.”
Nothing, empty, hollow. It echoed across her processor, beating into her ceaselessly. It never stopped. It couldn’t.
Skypulse. Gone. Dead. Taken from her in a cruel twist of fate. He’d left her behind to rust within the shell of life.
She wanted to follow him into oblivion, drift into the sweat caress of death if it meant being by his side once again.
No.
Stargaze forced her processor away from such thoughts. Despite this shallow existence, she couldn’t die, not yet. Smokescreen, Prowl… The last remaining pieces of her bonded left in the universe.
They needed her; she needed them.
The yellow femme, her bright colors faded from lack of care, bent down over a bundle of cables. One was sparking, the wiring opened up through the insulation. Yet another piece of the planet had shifted, causing internal damage to itself. This was the purpose of the Guardians.
“Primus…” she murmured softly, hands working across the damaged wire. “You are the Creator of life, of all. Many believe you to be the Unmaker as well. Are you?”
There was no answer. Sometimes, the plating would shift beneath her or the support beams would groan, a sign of acknowledgment. This time, the slumbering god lay silent.
“Are you responsible for my bonded’s death?” she murmured to the wires. “Did you twist his fate to fit your needs?”
Her spark cried out in agony, begging and struggling to reach the other end of her severed bond. Yet she held no anger toward her god. She never did.
“What are you plans for me?” she asked, voice soft, optics damp with coolant. “Will you take me as well? Or will you have me drift through this world?”
Stardaze peered down at the cabling beneath her skilled fingers. Already, it was repaired and she stood once more. She needed to continue her rounds through the tunnels.
“Perhaps your plans lay in my sparklings…” she whispered. “Perhaps my purpose has long been served.”
The planet gave no answer.
“I beseech you…” she continued, her voice a low sob. “Tell me what is to happen…”
Slowly, a light flickered into existence at the end of the hallway.
Stardaze raised her optics onto the soft yellow glow, taking a step forward. There had been rumors among the Guardians about strange lights… They darted past your optics, flying across the tunnels before flickered out when someone got too close. Never had she seen one herself.
Cautiously, she approached it. It flickered, but hovered in place.
“Is this my sign?” Stardaze inquired, optics lifting to the light. ”What does it mean?”
A soft rumble flowed from the glowing orb. “Fear not my child, all will become clear.”
Stardaze dipped her head in respect. Primus himself had answered her prays. Somehow she was deemed worthy…
“Your suffering has been unjust,” the orb told her. “Your requests will be granted.”
“But my sparklings…” she said quickly. She felt a stab of regret; she couldn’t leave them behind, could she…?
“They share you and your bonded’s will. Despite your absence, they will prosper.”
Stardaze folded her hands in front of her and nodded. “I am yours to command then. Do with me what you will.”
The orb hovered for a moment more before it drifted softly down one of the tunnels.
Stardaze followed it without a backwards glance.
“It wasn’t an unusual thing. It actually happened fairly often,” Smokescreen noted. “She may have just lost her way in the maze down there, but the Guardians didn’t think so.”
“What else could have happened?” Prowl asked.
“According to them, Primus accepted her into his very core to serve his needs there,” Smokescreen shrugged, looking like he didn’t believe it. “They’re a pretty superstitious bunch.”
Prowl looked up from the data pad and looked at his brother. A thin line of coolant trickled down from the corner of one optic.
To him, this knowledge merely inflicted empty pain. He wished he had been able to know them, but he couldn’t, a fact that he accepted.
But Smokescreen had known them; he’d been raised by them. To him, the mere thought of their fate still burned his spark. The pain of their deaths had never fully healed.
Abruptly, Smokescreen swiped a hand across his cheek and straightened up, all previous depression wiped away. “There are happier stories about them of course,” he assured his brother, his voice not possessing its normal level of emotion. “If you ever want to hear.”
“Not just yet,” Prowl replied, forcing himself back out of his down mood as well. “I need to be getting back to Jazz.”
Smokescreen nodded and gave him a small, knowing smile. “Go, we’ll talk later.”
Prowl stood and patted his brother’s shoulder before turning to leave. “Oh, I would like to ask you a favor,” he said, pausing. “Could you send me that picture?”
“Sure thing.” This time, Smokescreen’s smile was genuine.
Had it been any other mech, they’d probably have been flying across the room on a collision course with the wall.
“Prowler, ya might wanna watch yerself,” Jazz chuckled. “One day I might accidentally fling you into a wall.”
Prowl only tightened his arms further around the Special Ops mech, holding him from behind.
“So, how’d it go?” Jazz asked, peering behind him at his silent mate.
The Datsun nuzzled his face into the Porsche’s neck. “I learned all what happened to my creators,” he murmured.
Jazz leaned into the hold, reaching back to cup the back of Prowl’s neck. He drew him into a soft kiss. “And?”
Prowl shook his head briefly, but kissed him again. “I’ll tell you later,” he promised.
Jazz hummed into the kiss, his visor flickering softly. “Sounds good,” he said absently. “But did you find out what you needed to know?”
There was a pause and Prowl raised his head slightly. “I believe so.”
“Can you tell me that?” Jazz asked, lowering his arms so he could hold onto the arms circling his waist.
“I… am nervous about my abilities to be a sufficient creator,” Prowl began softly, briefly leaning down to nuzzle one of Jazz’s audio horns. “But I would rather be there and do a mediocre job than not at all.”
Jazz snorted out a laugh and elbowed him in the chest. “You’ll do a great job.”
Prowl grunted at the impact and tightened his arms. “We’ll see,” he murmured.
Strangely, Jazz seemed to puff up at his words. “No arguments, you will be a great daddy,” he huffed.
Prowl’s chest shook in contained laughter, a fond smile gracing his lips. “If you say so,” he replied. He slide one hand up and rested it gently over his mate’s spark chamber.
“Damn right I do.”
Verse: G1
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairings: Jazz, Prowl, Smokescreen, Several OCs; ProwlxJazz, OCxOC
Word Count: 3,187
Warnings: Mech Pregnancy, Femme Pregnancy, Dark Themes, Character Death
Summary: A new development in his life has Prowl wondering about the creators he never knew.
Notes: For vejiraziel. The prompt was basically just to explain Prowl and Smokescreen's past in my last fic How To Woo a Femme. THIS FIC IS A SEQUEL. Reading the first piece is suggested, but not necessary. This is another piece of our trade over at tf_trading_post. Also: This is now my longest fic ever.
“Prowl, I’m with sparkling.”
The SIC’s engine backfired, not garnering a reaction from either mech.
“Don’t look so surprised, it was sure to happen eventually.” Jazz snorted, grinning brightly.
Prowl just stared at him blankly.
“Oh, come on,” Jazz sighed, drooping. He’d expected a far more ecstatic reaction from his bond mate, something that preferably ended with passionate embraces. Now though, he’d settle for an uncertain smile.
Finally, Prowl moved, a shift of the optics onto Jazz’s chest plating. “You’re sure?” he asked stiffly.
“Ratchet confirmed it yesterday,” Jazz said, reaching out and taking Prowl’s hand in his.
“When did this happen…?"
“Last week on your desk, I think,” Jazz paused, optics flickering. “Or in the wash racks later that night.”
Prowl’s doorwings twitched low on his back as he seemed to sink back into that blank state.
Jazz let a brief scowl touch his face, pulling on Prowl’s hand. “Prowler, I don’t know yer issue with me getting sparked,” he said, dragging the hand upwards and pressing it encouragingly to his chest plates. “But this is happening.”
Prowl’s optics lit abruptly, fingers curling against the white plating. “Jazz… I…” He vented softly, looking stunned. “I have no problem with…. our… sparkling…”
“Then what’s wrong, Prowler? Talk to me….” Jazz said, his optics pleading. “Why do ya seem so upset about this?”
The Datsun’s doorwings drooped further, his optics shifting to his lap. “I’m afraid.” He admitted slowly.
Jazz moved closer, nestling himself against Prowl’s side. “Of what?”
“I’m… Not sure how to be a proper creator…” Prowl murmured softly, turning worried optics down on him.
“Aw, don’t be worried about that,” Jazz replied, brightening slightly. “You’ll be a fine daddy!”
Prowl shook off the odd human term, looking only more uncertain. “I don’t know how…”
“Just do what your creators did!” Jazz said, grinning. “They seem to have done a fine job raising you!”
Prowl looked startled, optics widening surprise as his back straightened. “My creators?”
“Yeah! I mean even Smokescreen turned out alright, so they had to have done a good job!” Jazz teased.
“I… Jazz… I was raised by Smokescreen,” Prowl said quietly, looking surprised.
The smile on Jazz’s face fell abruptly. “Oh…” he murmured, raising one hand to softly touch the side of the other’s face. “Prowl… I’m sorry… I had no idea…”
The SIC leaned his cheek into the touch, optics taking on a faraway look. “I never knew them…”
“What happened…?” Jazz asked slowly, stroking the soft plating.
Prowl trapped the hand to his cheek with one of his own, offlining his optics. “I-I don’t know… I never asked Smokescreen….” he said slowly. “I never thought much about it.”
Jazz tilted his mate’s helm down, pressing a kiss to his chevron. “Do ya want to know?”
Prowl reached around the smaller white frame, pulling him close. “I’m not sure. Maybe.”
A soft hum came from Jazz’s chest as he happily molded himself to Prowl’s side. “Go,” he said softly. “Talk to him about it and come back when ya get yer answers.”
Prowl nodded slowly. “Just… Give me a moment.” He sighed, releasing the hand on his cheek. He bent his head over, nuzzling his mate’s helm and turning to pull their chests flush together. Slowly, he became aware of the gentle energy radiating off of the other’s chest.
He could feel his newspark.
“Tell me about our creators."
After a long, awkward silence, waiting for his brother to explain his odd mood, Smokescreen jumped at the words. “Our creators?”
Prowl looked firm. “I need to know what happened to them.”
Smokescreen stared at him for a long time. His little brother had never asked about their creators before. He could only guess at his sudden curiosity. “You’re sure you want to know?”
“Yes. Even if they abandoned us, I want to know,” Prowl told him.
Smokescreen gave him a small smile, getting up from the berth. “Don’t worry, they didn’t abandon us,” he said, his voice gentle.
Prowl’s optics tracked him across the room as Smokescreen opened a drawer in his desk and withdrew a worn looking data pad. He flicked it on and approached his brother again.
“This is the closest thing we have to a family picture,” Smokescreen explained, setting the data pad in his brother’s hands.
On the screen, three bots stood happily. On the left, a tall thin flier was grinning at the camera, his red and white plating practically glowing in his joy. He had one arm wrapped protectively around a pretty yellow-and-black femme. Likewise, she was smiling brightly, one delicate hand resting over her spark. Between the two stood a rather young looking Smokescreen, his face beaming.
“Our carrier sparked you just a few orbital cycles before this picture was taken,” Smokescreen said gently, pointing at the female grounder.
“What happened?” Prowl whispered. He looked stunned by the simple image. However he may have previously imagined his creators before, it was now washed away by the sight of the picture.
Smokescreen sat down heavily on his berth, next to Prowl. “Towards the end of your carrying, there was an accident.”
Prowl stiffened. Of course he’d been expecting something like this, but somehow, just hearing that stung.
“Skypulse, our sire, was a scientist,” Smokescreen began, pointing at the flier in the image. “He was working on a revolutionary experiment; something he always claimed would change the world when it was complete.” A pause and a weary sigh. “Instead, it killed him.”
“Skypulse, I think you should come see this…”
The flier turns, glancing up from his data pad immediately. Normally, he would be hard pressed to abandon the important spreadsheet of numbers, but the uncertain tone in his colleagues’ voice catches his attention. “Yes, Atomblast?”
“No, I mean come here,” the green scientist says, his voice holding an unusual touch of worry. “I think there’s something wrong.”
Skypulse stood up, abandoning his work for the time being. “I suggest using caution with those words. You are currently attending to a sensitive and expensive experiment,” he noted, almost teasing.
Atomblast gave him a look that held no amusement. “I wouldn’t say it unless I was sure.”
The short wings on Skypulse’s back twitched at his words, his pace increasing as he crossed the room and took up a spot next to his partner. “What is it?”
“It…. It appears to be destabilizing.”
The winged scientist stiffened. “Show me the readings.”
Atomblast tapped on the monitor beneath the experiment. “See right here,” he said, pointing to the screen when a set of numbers and moving diagrams appeared.
“That’s…. It has to be a glitch.” Skypulse sighed, shaking his head. “According to this, the containment chamber is functioning fine, yet there is a fluctuation in the isotopes. Impossible,” he said firmly.
Atomblast didn’t look convinced. “What if it’s something else?”
“Well… There are protocols to follow,” Skypulse noted, gracing him with a teasing smile. “Evacuate the area, I’ll stay here and fix this.”
The green grounder twittered his fingers in front of him. “You sure that’s okay? I mean… I could stay here and try to stabilize it…”
Skypulse set a hand on his shoulder. “There’s nothing to stabilize,” he reminded him. “But one of us must make sure to clear the building in case something does happen. That’s you. Go.”
Atomblast gave him a small smile. “Okay,” he said. “Comm me when the coast is clear.”
Skypulse gave him a little wave as he quickly moved from the room, making an emergency comm to clear the base.
“Now… About these unstable isotopes…” he murmured, flexing his fingers as he set to work.
The monitor he attended to was set into the base of a tall tube that stretched from floor to ceiling in the lab. The churning blue liquid within was his life’s work.
Normally, the glowing blue liquid was calm, harmless despite its hazardous properties. In turn, the monitor stayed quiet, never flaring out in warnings. Until now.
“Impossible,” Skypulse murmured, optics narrowing at a flashing red light on the control monitor. “A cooling system overload?”
The red-and-white scientist may have further doubted what he considered to be a faulty monitor, had a high-pitched keening not erupted from the panel.
“No…. No no no no no no…!” Skypulse cursed, the severity of the situation suddenly catching up with him.
This experiment, a desperate attempt to create a highly concentrated form of energon, normally had a low danger level. Contained correctly in this state, it was harmless. But somehow, something had changed at a molecular level. It was unstable now, something that had very likely forced the cooling systems into overload, further dropping the chemical into a hazardous state. Depending on how far it had thus far progressed, it could explode at any moment.
Skypulse hurriedly typed in the necessary calculations, his fingers flying across the keyboard.
Catastrophic system meltdown is 10… 9 … 8…
So soon… There was no warning. How did this happen…?
There was so much that needed to be said, so much that needed to be done, so many people he needed to say good bye too… There was no time.
“Atomblast?” Skypulse commed, surprisingly calm despite the panic building within him.
“Skypulse? Is it all clear yet?” the other scientist asked, so unaware of the danger. Thankfully, they’d escaped in time…
“I need you to pass a message onto Stardaze for me.”
4… 3… 2…
“Prowl. I like that name, tell her that.”
1… 0.
The blue liquid flashed a burning white, the light blinding him as the lab exploded around him.
“The explosion was so massive that the entire building was destroyed. Luckily, everyone else was already out of the building,” Smokescreen said softly, not seeming at all comforted by this fact. “Skypulse was the only casualty.”
Prowl felt a sharp sting slash across his spark. He’d never known his sire, but just looking at the image and listening to his story… It felt like he’d missed something. Not once in his life had he ever felt a loss at being raised by his only brother.
“Then what happened?” Prowl asked softly.
“Things changed fast,” Smokescreen murmured. “Except for your creation, everything got worse.”
“What do you mean?” Prowl asked slowly.
Smokescreen’s optics bore into the picture, examining the femme there. “Stardaze was never the same-- she never recovered.”
“Stardaze?”
“Our carrier,” Smokescreen explained. “Our creators were very much in love and after Skypulse’s death, she was devastated.”
“Did she….?” Prowl began, almost dreading the answer.
“No, she didn’t kill herself,” Smokescreen assured him, though his tone indicated that the truth wasn’t much better.
“She was always very happy, no matter the situation, but she was also a dreamer,” Smokescreen explained. “I remember times when Skypulse or I would be talking to her and she’d just stare past us in a daze. She’d always snap out of it quickly, tell us what she’d been thinking about, and we’d continue the conversation.” As he spoke, a small smile had crept across his lips, but he quickly grew sober once more.
“After the accident, she just sat around and stared off into nothing. She hardly ever spoke and I had to convince her to take fuel constantly.” Smokescreen’s optics dimmed sadly, his head tipping down. “During her work and her dazes, I took care of you.”
“Her work?” Prowl asked, slipping an arm around his brother’s back. The story was… upsetting to him, but to his brother it seemed to have been a deeply troubled time.
“Stardaze was a Planet Guardian,” Smokescreen replied, leaning into the hold. “Back then, it was a fancy name for engineers that took care of the inner layers of Cybertron. It was a well respected job because many considered the Guardians to hold a special bond with Primus.”
“And did she?” Prowl asked, looking over at his brother.
Smokescreen shrugged. “She was never sure. Sometimes she claimed that the planet spoke to her indirectly, but she never said she was any more connected then the rest of us.”
There was a short lull in conversation as Prowl seemed to absorb this and Smokescreen sank further into his memories.
“What happened to her?”
“No one’s sure,” Smokescreen murmured, reaching a hand out toward the data pad. One finger stroked absently across Stardaze’s image. “She went into the tunnels and never came out.”
Nothing, empty, hollow. It echoed across her processor, beating into her ceaselessly. It never stopped. It couldn’t.
Skypulse. Gone. Dead. Taken from her in a cruel twist of fate. He’d left her behind to rust within the shell of life.
She wanted to follow him into oblivion, drift into the sweat caress of death if it meant being by his side once again.
No.
Stargaze forced her processor away from such thoughts. Despite this shallow existence, she couldn’t die, not yet. Smokescreen, Prowl… The last remaining pieces of her bonded left in the universe.
They needed her; she needed them.
The yellow femme, her bright colors faded from lack of care, bent down over a bundle of cables. One was sparking, the wiring opened up through the insulation. Yet another piece of the planet had shifted, causing internal damage to itself. This was the purpose of the Guardians.
“Primus…” she murmured softly, hands working across the damaged wire. “You are the Creator of life, of all. Many believe you to be the Unmaker as well. Are you?”
There was no answer. Sometimes, the plating would shift beneath her or the support beams would groan, a sign of acknowledgment. This time, the slumbering god lay silent.
“Are you responsible for my bonded’s death?” she murmured to the wires. “Did you twist his fate to fit your needs?”
Her spark cried out in agony, begging and struggling to reach the other end of her severed bond. Yet she held no anger toward her god. She never did.
“What are you plans for me?” she asked, voice soft, optics damp with coolant. “Will you take me as well? Or will you have me drift through this world?”
Stardaze peered down at the cabling beneath her skilled fingers. Already, it was repaired and she stood once more. She needed to continue her rounds through the tunnels.
“Perhaps your plans lay in my sparklings…” she whispered. “Perhaps my purpose has long been served.”
The planet gave no answer.
“I beseech you…” she continued, her voice a low sob. “Tell me what is to happen…”
Slowly, a light flickered into existence at the end of the hallway.
Stardaze raised her optics onto the soft yellow glow, taking a step forward. There had been rumors among the Guardians about strange lights… They darted past your optics, flying across the tunnels before flickered out when someone got too close. Never had she seen one herself.
Cautiously, she approached it. It flickered, but hovered in place.
“Is this my sign?” Stardaze inquired, optics lifting to the light. ”What does it mean?”
A soft rumble flowed from the glowing orb. “Fear not my child, all will become clear.”
Stardaze dipped her head in respect. Primus himself had answered her prays. Somehow she was deemed worthy…
“Your suffering has been unjust,” the orb told her. “Your requests will be granted.”
“But my sparklings…” she said quickly. She felt a stab of regret; she couldn’t leave them behind, could she…?
“They share you and your bonded’s will. Despite your absence, they will prosper.”
Stardaze folded her hands in front of her and nodded. “I am yours to command then. Do with me what you will.”
The orb hovered for a moment more before it drifted softly down one of the tunnels.
Stardaze followed it without a backwards glance.
“It wasn’t an unusual thing. It actually happened fairly often,” Smokescreen noted. “She may have just lost her way in the maze down there, but the Guardians didn’t think so.”
“What else could have happened?” Prowl asked.
“According to them, Primus accepted her into his very core to serve his needs there,” Smokescreen shrugged, looking like he didn’t believe it. “They’re a pretty superstitious bunch.”
Prowl looked up from the data pad and looked at his brother. A thin line of coolant trickled down from the corner of one optic.
To him, this knowledge merely inflicted empty pain. He wished he had been able to know them, but he couldn’t, a fact that he accepted.
But Smokescreen had known them; he’d been raised by them. To him, the mere thought of their fate still burned his spark. The pain of their deaths had never fully healed.
Abruptly, Smokescreen swiped a hand across his cheek and straightened up, all previous depression wiped away. “There are happier stories about them of course,” he assured his brother, his voice not possessing its normal level of emotion. “If you ever want to hear.”
“Not just yet,” Prowl replied, forcing himself back out of his down mood as well. “I need to be getting back to Jazz.”
Smokescreen nodded and gave him a small, knowing smile. “Go, we’ll talk later.”
Prowl stood and patted his brother’s shoulder before turning to leave. “Oh, I would like to ask you a favor,” he said, pausing. “Could you send me that picture?”
“Sure thing.” This time, Smokescreen’s smile was genuine.
Had it been any other mech, they’d probably have been flying across the room on a collision course with the wall.
“Prowler, ya might wanna watch yerself,” Jazz chuckled. “One day I might accidentally fling you into a wall.”
Prowl only tightened his arms further around the Special Ops mech, holding him from behind.
“So, how’d it go?” Jazz asked, peering behind him at his silent mate.
The Datsun nuzzled his face into the Porsche’s neck. “I learned all what happened to my creators,” he murmured.
Jazz leaned into the hold, reaching back to cup the back of Prowl’s neck. He drew him into a soft kiss. “And?”
Prowl shook his head briefly, but kissed him again. “I’ll tell you later,” he promised.
Jazz hummed into the kiss, his visor flickering softly. “Sounds good,” he said absently. “But did you find out what you needed to know?”
There was a pause and Prowl raised his head slightly. “I believe so.”
“Can you tell me that?” Jazz asked, lowering his arms so he could hold onto the arms circling his waist.
“I… am nervous about my abilities to be a sufficient creator,” Prowl began softly, briefly leaning down to nuzzle one of Jazz’s audio horns. “But I would rather be there and do a mediocre job than not at all.”
Jazz snorted out a laugh and elbowed him in the chest. “You’ll do a great job.”
Prowl grunted at the impact and tightened his arms. “We’ll see,” he murmured.
Strangely, Jazz seemed to puff up at his words. “No arguments, you will be a great daddy,” he huffed.
Prowl’s chest shook in contained laughter, a fond smile gracing his lips. “If you say so,” he replied. He slide one hand up and rested it gently over his mate’s spark chamber.
“Damn right I do.”